With A Little Help
by The Forgotten Nobody
Summary: "How do you do it Mr. Stark? How..how do you cope?" Spoilers for Spider-Man: Homecoming.


The first few days after his fight with the Vulture, Peter had felt pretty good all things considered. It really sucked that Liz had to move schools, had to find out how exactly her dad had been making his money all these years, but it was good that she knew the truth, even if it really hurt.

(That's what Peter told himself anyway.)

And yeah, Aunt May finding out his secret really hadn't been what he wanted either but despite it initially leading to a lot of yelling, crying, reality denial, _hugging_ , she was…well, okay wasn't the right word but she was starting to accept it. Sort of. Okay, so she'd never explicitly said she was okay with Peter going out on patrol but she also hadn't explicitly stopped him so…

It helped that Peter had his suit back, Karen still equipped. Not only that, but Mr. Stark had also offered him a place on the Avengers! The coolest superhero group ever! So maybe it _had_ been a test, and not a _real_ offer but it was one Peter had passed like the mature butt-kicking vigilante he was. It had crushed Peter when Mr. Stark took his suit, lost faith in him, and to have it back made him feel like he could do anything.

…Within reason. Peter hadn't forgotten how he'd got into the whole mess in the first place.

In fact, that was one of the reasons he wasn't doing so good anymore. It turned out that with awesome skills, battling bad guys and saving people's lives came sleepless nights and panic attacks. The nightmares were what came first. Initially, they'd only really focused on Liz, on what he'd done to her dad, to her family, but it had quickly progressed _to_ her dad, the Vulture. He was brought back to Homecoming, being in the man's car, having him threaten Peter over and over again, hear how he was going to kill Peter and everyone he loved. Then _that_ progressed to the threats being carried out. Peter could only take so many dreams of losing Ned and Aunt May due to his weakness, his stupidity, before he resorted to hiding the two of them away.

That wasn't all of it though, however much Peter wished it was. Memories would strike him spontaneously throughout the day, memories of the elevator, the ferry. Peter knew he'd been lucky both those days that no one had got hurt, had died. They so easily could have. Just one person and Peter could have devastated an entire family, friends. What if that one person had been like Aunt May? There could have been some kid like Peter who would have lost everyone. All because of Peter's recklessness.

Finally, there were the moments where it felt like he was back under the rubble again. Stuck. Weak. Helpless. Peter had never been so scared before. In those moments his chest felt like he couldn't get any oxygen and he was frozen. This had happened a couple of times now. The first was when Peter was alone trying to get to sleep. He'd almost called out for Aunt May, only just managing to stop himself in time. If she knew the details of what had happened to him…she'd never let him out of the house and then it would be a constant fight because despite all the fear and worry, he _had_ to go out there. If Spider-Man could help just one person then, well, that was one more person who could sleep easier, could live another day.

The next instance had been in school. Thankfully, it had been during lunch and so when Peter recognised the signs, felt the impending panic and terror, he'd quickly lied to Ned saying he needed the bathroom and waited out the attack sat hunched on the toilet. It wasn't that Peter didn't trust Ned he just…Ned didn't always get it. Ned was still convinced that being Spider-Man was just super awesome and yeah, most of the time it _was_ but there was also this part to it, the part no one showed or wanted to talk about. Peter knew that if he told Ned his best friend would try to sympathise, would support Peter the best he could and attempt to distract him with weird facts and awful jokes he made up on the spot but he wouldn't truly understand. He just couldn't.

This all meant that, a week after the battle had taken place, Peter was tired. It was all starting to affect his job as Spider-Man and even Aunt May was beginning to comment on his health. His reflexes were becoming slower and he was getting sloppier, letting the bad guys get in shots they never would have been able to before. Peter was angry at himself, angry that he couldn't deal with this, that he was letting it get the better of him, but mostly he was exhausted. He didn't know how superheroes did this, how they forgot and kept going.

How they coped.

(Peter wasn't coping.)

Peter punched his pillow in frustration, feeling angry tears fill the corner of his eyes. He was adamant not to let them fall though. He could do this. He'd be okay if he could _just get to sleep._ If he didn't see the Vulture every time he closed his eyes, making promises that shook Peter to his very core. He could do it if every little mistake he'd ever made wasn't replayed over and over like the world's worst gag-reel.

The sound of the pillow ripping drew Peter back to reality and he decided that if he couldn't sleep, then he'd just go out. Even as tired and sloppy as he was, he could still do some good, right?

Right?

It was just Peter's luck that everything seemed to be quiet that night. This was great, really it was, it wasn't like Peter _wanted_ crime but…he wanted a distraction because otherwise it would all come rushing back and nope, no siree, Peter was not letting that happen.

(It was already happening.)

"Your heartrate is more elevated than expected for the exercise you are carrying out Peter. Are you in distress?"

"I'm fine Karen," Peter lied because if he _said_ he was fine then clearly he was. That was how it worked, wasn't it?

"Would you like me to call someone for you?"

"No!" Peter grunted, throwing out another web. He wasn't sure where he was going but it didn't matter; the burn in his arms was actually helping take his mind off things. If he just kept focused on it, he'd be good.

"I estimate that you have 20 minutes of this continued behaviour before you run out of stamina. May I suggest you find somewhere to recuperate?"

"I said I'm fine Karen," Peter snapped. He instantly felt bad afterwards because, computer or not, in the short time he'd had her in his ear he'd grown fond of Karen. "Sorry."

"You don't need to apologise Peter."

She was quiet after that, suggesting to Peter that even if she'd said he didn't need to apologise, he'd hurt her artificial feelings nonetheless. Peter sighed, tacking that onto 'reasons why today's a sucky, sucky day' and continued on swinging.

It was only when he started losing buildings that Peter realised he was heading towards the new Avengers facility and even though he didn't want Mr. Stark to know how he'd clearly made a mistake trusting Peter because, well, just look at him, he continued in that direction regardless, his body seemingly knowing better than his brain.

He ended up switching to a version of the web grenades once he lost the majority of the buildings, using the momentum to keep him propelled upwards as he moved forwards. He knew if he ended up on the ground he wasn't going to make it. He'd collapse, alone with Karen, wondering where it all went wrong and Peter had never really been a fan of camping anyway. Especially without pyjamas, a sleeping bag, a _tent_ …

Peter landed with a thump on one of the massive windows and with a jolt, realised how lucky he was that there weren't any security lasers pointing at him or a booming voice ordering him to get off the lawn (window).

Karen spoke up before he could question it.

"I took the liberty of informing Mr. Stark of your arrival. He's waiting by the entrance."

His cheeks burning and muscles strained, Peter dropped to the ground, his shaky legs nearly collapsing under him. He debated turning back but the damage was done and…Peter needed help. Maybe Mr. Stark could provide that.

The door opened automatically and Peter took a cautious step through, momentarily blinded by the light. As the black dots cleared, Mr. Stark came into focus in front of him. He didn't look like he'd been in bed but he also wasn't wearing his usual suit. He had on a white, stained tank top along with some old jeans. Something inside Peter is soothed at seeing Mr. Stark like this. He didn't look so…adult, like he was about to draw Peter into a meeting.

"What's up kid? Got some new big bad out there?"

Peter scratched the back of his neck, just under the mask, before he ended up taking the whole thing off. His shoulder ached at the action. "Not…not exactly."

Mr. Stark's eyes narrowed on his face and Peter knew what he was seeing. The dark circles under the eyes, the pale complexion, the cut on his lip which got reopened every night when Peter bit it during the few moments he _did_ get to sleep.

"How 'bout you come up for a drink? I've been trying to teach Dummy how to make hot chocolate." He turned swiftly on his heel and Peter hurried to catch up with him as they headed into the elevator.

(Even though he knew there was no chance of it falling, Peter's hands stuck to the sides nevertheless.)

The ride up was short but Peter could feel Mr. Stark's gaze on him. The man tried to play it off as nonchalant but the hairs on the back of Peter's neck stood at the attention, making it obvious just how critically he was watching him. It caused the skin beneath them to heat up.

"So what can I get you?" Mr. Stark asked as they stepped out. "Marshmallows? Whipped cream? Sprinkles? You kids like sprinkles, don't you?"

"Marshmallows sound good," Peter said quietly.

"You heard the boy Dummy." Mr. Stark dropped onto a cream leather sofa and gestured for Peter to do the same. Peter hovered a bit before doing so.

They were clearly in the communal living room as the wide space contained multiple sofas, some recliners and the biggest TV Peter had ever seen. He cautiously took a seat opposite Mr. Stark on a red beanbag, taking comfort in the way it moulded around his body. At the back of the room there was a small kitchen unit where a robot, Dummy, started preparing the hot chocolate. They didn't seem to be all that good at it though, carrying out every action with a lot of unnecessary banging and crashing. He spilt the milk and Mr. Stark sighed.

"What did I say Dummy? You open the carton _when_ it's on the counter. Not when it's in your hand. Now, now. Don't give me that look." Mr. Stark rolled his eyes, lifting a hand to whisper conspiratorially to Peter, "You should see the time he tried making pizza. He thought it'd be a great idea to spin the dough. It went _everywhere_."

Peter let out a tentative laugh, not exactly sure where the night was going. Now that he was stationary he felt jittery almost, his eyes twitching a little like a nervous tick.

Again, Mr. Stark sighed.

"So, let's not beat around the bush. You don't look good kid. What's up?"

"I…" He didn't know where to start, didn't know what exactly he wanted to tell Mr. Stark. Saying 'I have nightmares' just sounded so…childish and okay, Peter knew he was a kid but he was also a superhero. A badass superhero who shouldn't get this sort of thing. He bet Captain America didn't get nightmares.

He probably dreamt of eagles.

But that was beside the point.

"How do you do it Mr. Stark?" Peter ended up asking and Mr. Stark raised an eyebrow.

"You're gonna have to be a bit more specific."

Peter bit his lip, instantly letting go when it stung as the cut almost reopened. "How..how do you cope with it? Because I thought I was good. I was great, you know? Everything worked out. I mean, Liz had go move because of me but it was for the best. Her dad wasn't a good dude. And…no one died so, like, that's awesome! Except, except it's not so awesome because I can't sleep anymore. I try but every time I shut my eyes it's like I'm back there. I'm back there with the Vulture or I'm back in that elevator and I'm too slow or I can't stop them and it's a lot, you know? I can't…I can't do it Mr. Stark. I just-just wanna sleep. I really want to but I _can't_ so maybe you made mistake. I should-should just give up the suit! I should-"

"Easy there kid," Mr. Stark interrupted gently. "Relax. Take a few deep breathes. Dummy? Where's that hot chocolate?"

While Peter focused on calming his extremely erratic breath, there was a nudge at his knee and a mug of hot chocolate shoved in his face. With trembling hands, Peter took it and tried to offer Dummy a smile.

"Thanks," he mumbled. He put his lips to the rim of the mug and allowed the aroma of sweet chocolate to fill his nose. It didn't smell as nice as May's but it was good nonetheless. Mr. Stark was silent as Peter blew on his drink, cooling it until he was able to take a few sips without burning his tongue. The warm chocolate helped his bones relax and he sagged further into the bean bag. His eyelids felt like they had weights attached to them and but he fought against them. It was all a trick. He might feel ready for bed now but the moment he actually _wanted_ to sleep, the neurons in his brain would be blowing up like fireworks.

"We all get nightmares Peter," Mr. Stark eventually said once Peter had finished half the mug. "It's all part of the job."

"Even you?" Peter asked quietly.

Mr. Stark snorted. " _Especially_ me kiddo. Anyone in this business will tell you that you don't come out unscathed. You can't. And contrary to popular belief, it doesn't make you weak. It's just your body's way of processing things, as f-crappy as its methods are."

"So…how do you deal with it?" Peter was aware of how young his voice sounded but he couldn't help it. He needs an answer, a solution he can't come up with alone.

A wry smile crossed Mr. Stark's lips. "With methods you should not copy. But, there are other options. Talking, kind of like we are, is one of them. If you want, I can hook you up with a S. .L.D therapist."

Peter shook his head vehemently, ignoring how his vision swam a little afterwards. "I don't want them to know who I am." Being part of the Avengers was one thing. Losing his freedom to S.H.I.E.L.D? Peter had kind of grown fond of the idea of being the 'friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man', not a pawn to be used at someone's disposal.

"You wouldn't necessarily have to," Mr. Stark shrugged. "But hey, it's all about what _you're_ comfortable with." He hesitated, fingers tapping on the arm of the sofa. "If you want, you could talk to me. About everything."

"I-I don't want to bother you Mr. Stark," Peter was quick to say. "I'm sure you've got way better things to do than listen to me. You know, I should probably just go. Yeah, I should. Thanks for the hot chocolate-"

"Sit your ass on the bean bag kid," Mr. Stark ordered when began Peter to stand up. Automatically, Peter sat his butt back down.

"Don't you go assuming what I want, okay? I'm a grown man. I can decide how I want to spend my time and if it's listen to you I'm not gonna consider it wasted, alright? So, I'm here."

Dragging his thumb up and down the mug anxiously, Peter considered the offer. In the end, it wasn't that hard a decision. Mr. Stark knew what this was like, in ways Aunt May and Ned couldn't so…he was Peter's best shot and he was offering. Swallowing his pride and settling his mug on his jiggling knee, Peter began to speak.

He spoke about the nightmares, the 'what if' scenarios that were gifted to him each night. He spoke about the guilt that lingered from the ferry incident and from breaking up Liz's family. He told Mr. Stark how Aunt May had been more stressed ever since she found out his secret but that Peter couldn't stop being Spider-Man meaning he was obviously an awful nephew. He revealed every little fear, every small thing that loomed over him both day and night and by the end, there were tears gathering in his eyes that he once again stubbornly refused to let fall. Unable to face Mr. Stark, Peter kept his eyes downcast to his suit-clad feet.

There was silence. And then…

"Peter." Mr. Starks voice was so uncharacteristically soft that Peter found his head jerking upwards. The man was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "You went through a traumatic experience, multiple ones, in fact. And sure, being a superhero means taking on more responsibility but it doesn't mean you should take _all_ the responsibility. At the end of the day, those incidents, the danger, it's all down to the bad guy. They're the reason it happens, not you. Sometimes it means you can't help everyone and that's something that sucks but it's also something you learn to live with it because at the end of the day, the good outweighs the bad. Without Spider-Man around, there would be guys out there creating nefarious plots with my tech. You stopped that Peter. You're a strong kid." He took a deep breath, considering his next words.

"You're Aunt's strong too kid. She'll never like it, not really, but that's because she cares about you. People who care about you don't like it all that much, trust me. But she'll get used to it. You shouldn't be afraid to ask for her support Peter, it's what she's there for. And me. I'm there too." Mr. Stark paused to scratch his beard. "Listen, I'll make sure I'm always on call from now on, okay? Karen will always be able to reach me. No more going through Happy. And this _isn't_ because I don't trust you, you got that? It's because we all need back-up sometime kid. Why do you think the Avengers formed in the first place?"

There was a burning sensation in Peter's throat and behind his eyes. He didn't feel 100% better but Mr. Stark's words had helped. Just knowing that he wasn't making a big deal of it all, that his feelings were legitimate had gone a long way.

"Thanks Mr. Stark," Peter said, his voice clogged with emotion.

Mr Stark sighed, standing up. "C'mere kid."

He'd barely opened his arms before Peter was barrelling into him, his own arms coming up to wrap around Mr. Stark's chest. He could sense Mr. Stark's hands hovering behind him before one ended up wrapping around his shoulders, the other resting lightly on the back of his neck. Somehow, the gesture made Peter's heart tug even more painfully and the tears which had been threatening to spill all night couldn't be held back any longer. Even though he was creating a pretty big wet patch on Mr. Stark's top, the man didn't seem to care. He just kept muttering things like 'It's okay' and 'Let it out' as if they weren't making Peter bawl harder.

He's not sure how long they stood there like that but eventually, the tears dried out and all Peter was left with were shuddering breathes, a congested nose and red eyes. Embarrassed, he started to pull away but Mr. Stark didn't let him go just let, giving him a quick, hard squeeze before releasing him.

"Even if you're not an Avenger, the room's still yours if you want it. Do you want to try and get some sleep here?"

Simply the thought of swinging back home has Peter's abused muscles scream in protest and so it was with a weary, grateful smile that Peter nodded.

"Yeah. Thanks Mr. Stark."

"It's no problem Peter. You let F.R.I.D.A.Y. know if you need anything, okay?"

Peter nodded, his mind for once feeling clear enough that he thought he might actually manage a decent night's sleep. He went to walk away but Mr. Stark's voice stopped him.

"Oh and Peter?"

He turned his head back. "Yeah Mr. Stark?"

Mr. Stark's lip twitched upwards.

"Call me Tony."


End file.
